


A Frozen Christmas Carol

by Leaves_of_Laurelin



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: A Christmas Carol AU, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Gen, M/M, Modern AU, References to death and illness typical to any retelling of A Christmas Carol, Silver Fox Hans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27898675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaves_of_Laurelin/pseuds/Leaves_of_Laurelin
Summary: A retelling of A Christmas Carol with Hans as Scrooge. Set in modern day New York City.
Relationships: Hans/Kristoff (Disney)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15





	1. Stave I: Weselton's Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! And thank you for reading. I have made a playlist for this fic which can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NxXgTsamkgnO5h9JtoQ9C?si=9yVfFdy3RmSrdQ--Ocncog).

Weselton was dead. There was no doubt about it, he was as dead as a doornail. 

Hans Westergaard knew he was dead, of course. Weselton died with no next of kin so Hans had been the executor of his will. He had arranged for the modest funeral (Weselton would have appreciated the bargain) and was the only mourner in attendance. Not that Hans did much mourning. The two had been business partners for quite a number of years but there wasn’t any particular personal affection between the two men. 

The sign on the door of their small midtown office still read ‘Westergaard & Weselton’ but that was simply because Hans knew it was frivolous and wasteful to spend money on a new sign. Besides, that was the name that they were known by to their clients.

It was on a Christmas Eve, seven years to the day that Weselton had died, that Hans sat busy in his office. His hair was auburn save for the patches of gray on his temples which grew larger with each passing year. They were now quite pronounced, though not out of the ordindary for a man of forty-five such as himself. His expression was hard as stone as he tapped away at his keyboard, studying the charts and graphs and spreadsheets on the four computer monitors that were arranged in a square on his desk. The suit he wore was precisely tailored. As with most of the things Hans owned, it was well made but not frivolously expensive for the sake of some brand name. 

Sitting at a smaller desk was Ryder Cratchit, a man of thirty who had worked at Westergaard & Weselton for many years. Part administrative assistant, part data entry specialist, part IT department, part whatever else Mr. Westergaard needed. He had a blanket across his lap and fingerless gloves on to help keep him warm from the chill in the office. 

It was a blustery cold day outside, with the wind whipping down the canyons of the city. There was snow on the ground from a storm earlier in the week, and more predicted for tonight. 

The two men worked in silence, the only sounds being the tapping of keyboards and the shuffling of papers. It was how Hans preferred it, no television or radio as a distraction nor any idle chit-chat. It was calm and peaceful and the perfect environment for work. That was until something, or rather _someone_ , broke the silence. 

“Helloooo party people!” a loud voice called out as its owner, a young woman by the name of Frederica, came bursting through the door with her arms raised in the air. 

Hans groaned at the disturbance. 

Frederica was his niece, the only child of his only sibling - his late brother Lars. Her wild auburn hair was controlled only by a knit winter hat and she wore a heavy men’s coat. The cold had turned her cheeks rosy and her emerald eyes were shining with joy. 

“Hi Freddie,” Ryder greeted her in a cheerful tone. 

“Ryder, my man,” she smiled at him in return. “How’s it hanging?” 

“Ah, just fine,” he responded with a short laugh. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding. Congratulations again to you and Clara.”

Hans let out a huff. 

“Thank you,” Frederica responded, ignoring her uncle. “How is the family?”

“The family is good.”

“And Olaf?”

“He’s-,” Ryder started then stopped, hesitation passing over his features. “Well, he’s-,”

“ _Frederica_ ,” Hans interrupted. “Is there a reason why you’re here? Besides distracting my employee, that is.”

She gave Ryder a small nod before walking over to Hans’s desk. 

“I’m here to wish you a merry Christmas, Uncle Hans! It is Christmas Eve after all.”

“Nonsense,” he grumbled as he returned his attention to his work. 

“Christmas is nonsense?” Fredrica asked with some indignation, putting her hands on her hips. “ _Surely_ you can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“See you’re supposed to say _‘I am, and don’t call me Shirley!’_ ” she said, dropping her voice down to imitate him as she wagged a finger in his direction. 

Hans lifted his gaze from his computer screens to glare at her for a moment before returning his attention to his work. 

“Nothing? Not even a chuckle? Fine.” Frederica sighed before rubbing her hands together. “It’s nearly as freezing in this office as it is outside. Where is that thermostat?”

Ryder looked up from his work, hopeful. 

“Don’t. Touch. The thermostat,” Hans said firmly. “The heat in this building costs a fortune.”

Ryder pursed his lips together in disappointment and returned to what he was doing. 

Frederica shifted some papers and other items away from the corner of her uncle’s desk so she could take a seat on it. Hans bristled at this since he always kept everything exactly where he wanted it and didn’t appreciate his things being disturbed. 

“How come you don’t have any Christmas decorations up in your office?” she asked as she looked around, letting her legs swing back and forth. 

“You celebrate Christmas your way and I’ll celebrate Christmas my way.”

“Celebrate?” she laughed, “But you don’t celebrate it at all!”

“Exactly,” Hans turned his head to look at her. “Because what is there to celebrate? What makes tomorrow any different from any other day of the year? People spending money they don’t have on things they don’t need? Snotty, bratty kids getting presents they don’t appreciate? Nuts and fools clawing over each other at big box stores to get the latest expensive gadget that’s just going to stop working in a few years anyway? Nonsense!” Hans looked back at his computer screens. “It’s all nonsense.” 

“It’s more than just that, Uncle Hans. Christmas is _so_ much more than that,” Frederica’s voice had a dreamy quality to it as she spoke. “It’s a time for kindness and forgiveness and charity. Peace on Earth and goodwill towards man, and all that jazz. It’s a time for people to be reflective of the past year, and of their whole lives. To gather around and spend time with the people they love, the people that are most important, family and friends. So, I say God bless Christmas!” 

There was a round of applause from the other side of the office. Hans and Frederica looked over to find Ryder cheering her words. 

“Keep clapping and you’ll spend Christmas in the unemployment office!” Hans snaped. 

Ryder quickly looked back to his computer screen and resumed his typing. 

Fredrica shook her head. “You could be nicer to him, ya know?” she said quietly enough for Ryder to not hear.

Hans huffed and put on his reading glasses to study some of the papers on his desk. 

“Sooo,” she continued on as she took off her knit hat, the static from it causing some strands of her hair to float about. “The real reason for my visit. I’m here to invite you to come over tomorrow night and spend Christmas with us.”

“ _Us?_ Who is _us?_ ”

“Clara. _Obviously_. She is my wife after all.” There was a bit of snark in her tone. “Though I can understand you forgetting that since you missed the wedding.”

“The _wedding_ ,” Hans repeated with sarcasm. “Having a ceremony in some hole in the wall bar in Greenpoint with a drag queen as the officiant hardly qualifies as a _wedding_.” Frederica had given him the planned details of the event beforehand and it was all far too embarrassing for Hans to even consider showing his face. Besides, he had been busy with work that night anyway. 

“Devine Intervention is a very close friend of ours, I’ll have you know,” Federica smirked. “And she is in _very_ high demand for events. We’re lucky we got her.” 

Hans took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, beginning to get exhausted with this conversation. “Why did you get married anyway?” 

“Why?” Frederica snorted. “Because I fell in love, why else?”

“Because you fell in love,” Hans repeated with some mockery, as if it were the only thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Frederica said, pushing on. “Tomorrow. You. Us. Greenpoint. Christmas dinner. What do you say?” 

“I think I’ll pass,” Hans said plainly, his eyes fixed on the computer screens in front of him. 

“You don’t have to make up your mind right now.” Frederica looked down as she began to fidget with the knit hat in her hands. “We’re having a bunch of friends over so there will be plenty of food and drinks so you don’t have to bring anything. I’m not asking you to bring-, I mean that’s not why I-, I don’t need you to-,” she stumbled over her words a bit but shook it off. “What I’m saying is it should be a good time and the invitation to you is open.” 

Hans hummed in response, not really paying attention to what she was saying any longer. 

Reluctantly, Frederica stood up and began to walk back towards the front door of the office. 

“Merry Christmas, Freddie,” Ryder said gently as she passed by his desk. 

“And a merry Christmas to you too, Ryder,” she replied with a weak smile, “And to your whole family.” Fredrica pulled her knit hat back on and slipped out the door. 

And, with Frederica’s departure, the office returned to its normal, still silence. 

~

“Any plans for tomorrow?” Ryder asked at the end of the workday while the two men were getting ready to head home, as if he hadn’t overheard Hans’s whole conversation with Frederica earlier. 

“I’ll be here, of course,” Hans said as he wrapped his scarf around his neck and pulled on his long wool coat. “The government forces me to give you the day off tomorrow. _With pay._ But they can’t force me to stay home and idle away my life.” 

Ryder simply nodded as he finished buttoning up his coat. They locked up the office and then rode the elevator down in silence. 

“I hope you have a merr-,” Ryder began as they exited the elevator, but then caught himself. “I hope you have a nice day tomorrow, Mr. Westergaard, and I’ll see you the day after.”

“Be here early on the 26th,” Hans said gruffly. “To make up for tomorrow.”

“I will,” Ryder agreed. 

As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Ryder hunched his shoulders and hurried off in the direction of the subway. Hans turned up the collar of his coat against the cold wind and began to walk west towards Hell's Kitchen. 

~

As Hans entered the lobby of his building, he stopped off to collect his mail from the boxes. 

His unit in this building had once belonged to his late partner, Weselton. It had more space than Hans needed and wasn’t the type of place he would have purchased on his own. The building had certain extravagances that Hans saw as frivolous. (Who needed a gym with fancy aerobic machines when one could simply go for a run as Hans did?) But prices in the neighborhood had been steadily rising over the years, so holding onto the unit for now was a smart and practical investment. 

Hans groaned when he saw one of the members of the building’s co-op board, Kai, approaching him. The man was holding a pen and clipboard, which only meant one thing: begging for a handout.

“Hans Westergaard,” Kai beamed as he came to stop in front of him, blocking Hans’s path to the elevator. “How are you on this chilly Christmas Eve?” 

“Fine,” he responded tersely. 

“I’m glad I caught you. We are putting together a collection from all of the residents of the building. As you know, my brother is head of pediatrics at Arendelle Hospital.” (How could Hans not know? The guy mentioned it every time he came bothering him for a donation.) “And at this most charitable time of year, many of us wish to give to a place that has done so much good for the community.” Kai held up his pen and clipboard. “What can I put you down for?”

“Nothing.” 

“Right, of course,” Kai said with a small laugh and a knowing smile. “Many folks choose to donate anonymously. What dollar amount will you be giving?”

“When I said nothing, I meant _nothing_.” Hans felt his forehead furrow. “You’re always asking for handouts for this hospital. Do I not pay taxes? A _lot_ of taxes. And is Arendelle not a public hospital? Therefore, have I not paid money to them already?”

“Well, yes,” Kai answered cautiously. “They do get _some_ public funds, but it is not nearly enough. Without private charity the hospital would not be able to stay afloat. And if that hospital ever closed, some of the most underserved residents of our great city would suffer the most.” 

“Well good,” Hans said, giving the man a cold stare. “This city is overcrowded enough as it is.” 

The man was left speechless with a horrified expression on his face, which had been the desired effect. Without another word, Hans walked unencumbered past him and headed for the elevator. 

As the doors of the elevator shut in front of him, Hans was greeted by his own reflection in the mirrored paneling. He closed his eyes and let out an aggravated breath as the elevator began to move up. What an annoying, frustrating day. But at least he would not have to interact with another living soul the rest of the night. 

When Hans opened his eyes again his muscles all tensed and his blood ran cold. There in the mirrored door before him was a second face, as if someone were standing directly behind him. Hans jumped and spun around, his back making contact with the side wall of the elevator. But, there was nothing. Nothing and no one else in the elevator beside him. The face had seemed so familiar but... no, that was impossible. Just a trick of the lights. 

Hans stood up straight again, readjusting himself as the elevator reached his floor. 

~

As the evening hours wore on, Hans found himself as always did, and as he liked it, alone. 

Hans sat on his leather couch, his legs crossed and a nightcap in his hand. He wore a warm robe over his pajamas. (Just as in his office, Hans preferred to keep the heat in his apartment turned down low to save money.) The television was tuned to NY1 and Hans was taking in the recap of the past day’s news as well as the forecast for the next day’s weather. The broadcast then cut to a smiling reporter out in Rockefeller Center standing in front of the tree. Hans scoffed as he grabbed the remote control and turned the television off. 

“Ridiculous, gaudy tourist trap,” he muttered to himself before taking a sip from his glass. But as he did, the television turned back on. Hans eyed the remote control in his hand. Strange. He must have hit a button accidentally. 

Hans pointed the remote at the television and hit the power button again. But as soon as he turned it off, it turned on again. It then began to change from channel to channel to channel in rapid succession. Hans pressed the power button on the remote again, but to no avail. He stood up and began to press any and every button he could, but it did nothing. 

His stereo then began blasting out classical music. In the kitchen his microwave turned on and his coffee maker hissed. Everything in his apartment that could beep or blink or whirl was going off in a horrifying cacophony. Hans stood slack-jawed and stunned, at a loss for what was causing this and how to stop it. 

And then, all at once, they all turned off again, plunging the apartment back into silence. That was until the sounds of a rattling chain came from behind him. Hans whipped around in the direction of his front door. Again he could hear the rattling of metal and the sound clawed at his insides. 

Hans felt the blood drain from his face as something came straight through the closed, heavy door and passed into the room before his eyes. The glass he was holding slipped from his hand and landed with a smash on the floor. 

It was the ghostly image of a man, slight of frame and floating off of the ground. His round-framed glasses sat perched upon his beak-like nose and a scowl twitched underneath his white handlebar mustache. He glowed with a sickly blueish-green light as he floated closer. A heavy chain was wrapped around his body, clasped around his middle and wound over his shoulders and arms. The chain was weighed down with padlocks and steel boxes. 

“Wha-, what do you want with me?” Hans stammered out as he took a few steps backward. 

“Much,” the phantom responded simply. 

“Who-, who are you?”

“Ask me who I was.”

“Don’t get smart with me,” Hans snapped. “Who _are_ you, who _were_ you, whatever! Just tell me!”

“You already know who I am,” he said as he came even closer, his chains scraping along the floor, until he was only a few feet away from Hans. “When I was alive I was your partner, Jacob Weselton.” 

Ice filled his veins as he dropped down to sit on his couch. “No,” Hans whispered. “No, it can’t be.”

“Why do you doubt your senses? Look at me. Do you not recognize me? Do I not look like the man you once knew?” 

Hans did recognize him. It was Weselton, as unbelievable as it may be. He was as Hans remembered him, except for the heavy burdens that he was now fettered with. 

“Who put those chains on you?” Hans asked him. 

“I put them on myself. I forged them link by link throughout my life, by my words and my actions.” Weselton’s voice grew forlorn. “Horrible, horrible things I did in my life. Why! Why was I so foolish and so blind?”

“Horrible? No,” Hans shook his head. “In life you were a fantastic man of business. No one knew how to turn a profit like you.” 

“And how many lives did we crush in the name of profit?” he spat out the final word as if it pained him. 

“It’s not our fault if some idiot doesn’t understand how compound interest works. People shouldn’t take out loans if they can’t afford to repay them.” Hans waved a hand dismissively. “It was just business!” 

“Business!” Weselton shook his arms, causing his chains to rattle. “You think the work we did at our firm is what my business on Earth was? The welfare of my fellow human beings, was that not what my true business was? A family living paycheck to paycheck, was that not my business? The homeless and the hungry, were their fates not my business? The sick? The needy? The forgotten? I spent barely a minute of my life tending to things that were actually my business.”

“And for that you’ve been put in chains?” Hans asked in disbelief. A certain dread began to flood into him. “Then-, then-, then what will happen to me?”

“Doomed,” Wesleton bellowed as he raised an arm and pointed at Hans. “Doomed you are to join me in chains once you have died. To walk the world as I do. No rest, no peace, nothing but the incessant torture of regret.” 

“No,” Hans fell to his knees. “Please, no. That can’t be my destiny. There must be some way to stop it.”

“There is hope for you, Hans,” Weleston nodded. “You have a chance of escaping my fate.” 

“Thank you!” Gratitude swept through him. “Thank you, Wesleton, you were always such a good friend and-,” 

“You will be haunted by three spirits.” 

“I-, wait, what?” Hans scrunched his face up, his gratitude evaporating somewhat. “Can I… not be?”

“If you want to avoid my fate you will take heed of their lessons. Expect the first early tomorrow when the clock strikes one. The second will come on the next night at the same hour.”

“Really?” Hans groaned. “They can’t all just come at once and get it over with? They got busy haunting schedules or something?”

“The third!” Weselton shouted, ignoring Hans’s complaints. “The third will come the night after that when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate.”

“Wha-, how will I know when that is? I don’t own a clock with bells.”

“Remember what has happened tonight, Hans. For your own sake.” And with those final words, Weselton floated backward again, disappearing through the door. 

For a long moment Hans remained on his knees, his heart pounding and his head reeling. Slowly he got to his feet and stumbled over to his liquor cabinet. Hans grabbed for the first bottle he could get his hands on and poured it into a new glass, splashing and spilling some onto the floor. His hand shook as he brought the glass to his lips and downed its whole contents. Hans brought the back of his hand up to his mouth and winced as the brown liquid burned his throat. 

It hadn’t been real. Ghosts? Spirits? Nonsense. All of it, nonsense. He was just seeing things that weren’t there. He hadn’t been sleeping well enough lately, that was it. Or perhaps during her visit this afternoon Frederica had slipped some psychedelic whatever into his coffee as a practical joke. 

A good night’s sleep would set him right. That’s what he needed and then he would forget all about this in the morning. He put the glass down and headed for his bedroom. 

Hans took off his robe and tossed it onto the foot of his bed before climbing in under the covers. He turned off the lamp on his nightstand and closed his eyes. 

But sleep did not seem like it would come. Hans opened his eyes again, staring up into the darkness. Adrenaline pumped through his body and his nerves pulsed. Clutching tighter at his bedsheets, Hans realized that it would be a long, agonizing wait for 1:00 AM.


	2. Stave II: The First of the Three Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: references to death, references to alcohol abuse]

Hans laid in bed staring up into the darkness. Waiting. He felt so foolish, unable to sleep because of what? The idea that some spirit was going to come visit him? He turned his head to look at the digital clock on his nightstand. 

_12:47_

This was such nonsense. He knew that 1:00 AM would come and go and nothing would happen and then he’d relax and be able to fall asleep. 

_12:52_

Almost time. 

_12:59_

Almost. Almost.

As soon as the display changed to _01:00_ a bright, white light filled his bedroom. Hans lifted a hand to his face to shield his eyes. He blinked several times to try to adjust his vision. Eventually, at the source of the light, he was able to make out a figure. He could not, though, tell what - or who - this figure was. 

“Show yourself,” he called out. 

The figure walked forward and, slowly, came into focus for him as the bright light faded into a glow. The unearthly vision was a woman in a flowing, pure white dress with pale skin. Her blonde hair was down and loose and nearly the color of her dress and he could see that her feet were bare. The most striking thing about her was her eyes - piercing, ice blue in color and appearing both youthful and ancient. 

“Are you the, uh, _visitor_ that Weleston warned me about?” Hans asked with a shaky voice. 

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past,” she said. Her voice was clear and smooth and full of wisdom. 

“Long past?” he asked, wondering what kind of history lesson he was about to get. 

“No. _Your_ past.” 

Her answer did little to calm his nerves. In fact, he found it quite unsettling.

“Why are you here?” he asked as he stood up from his bed - on the opposite side from the Ghost, of course - and pulled on his robe. 

“I’m here for your own good,” she said, a small smile playing at her lips. 

“My own good,” Hans scoffed as he slid his feet into his slippers. “What would do me good is a peaceful night’s rest. Not, not… whatever the hell this is.”

“Come.” The Ghost extended a hand in his direction. 

“I-I’d really rather not. I’m not dressed.” Hans fidgeted with the belt of his robe. “And it’s a frigid night and, and, and my knee,” he reached down to touch it, “it’s, see, I have this bad knee and it’s been acting up lately so-,”

“ _Come_ ,” she repeated with more force, clearly not buying his excuses. 

Hans pursed his lips together and remembered Weselton’s words. _’If you want to avoid my fate you will take heed of their lessons.’_ While he didn’t really want to go anywhere with this woman, fear of an eternity in chains urged his feet forward. 

As he walked towards her, the Ghost reached out and took his hand. Her skin felt cold and it sent a chill through Hans’s body. She began to lead him across the room in the direction of the window. As they approached it, it flew open all on its own, a gust of freezing night air blowing in. To Hans’s surprise, the Ghost stepped up into the windowsill. He tried to pull his hand out of hers but she held tight.

“Out the window?” he asked, horrified. “We’re three stories up! The fall will kill me.” 

“You will not fall,” she assured him. 

Hans swallowed, his heart thumping in his chest, as he stepped up into the windowsill to join the Ghost.

“Now, step forward.”

“No! Spirit, _no_ ,” Hans was shaking his head as he clutched onto the window curtains with the hand that wasn’t holding the Ghost’s. “No fucking way. I’m not jumping out a damn window.”

“Hans,” the Ghost said firmly. “Just let go.”

The image of Weselton in his chains replayed in his mind once again. 

Let go. This was crazy. Let go. This was _absolutely_ crazy. Just let go. 

Hans closed his eyes and stepped forward.

Instead of stepping into nothingness as he had expected, his feet landed on something solid. Opening his eyes, saw that they were no longer in his dark bedroom but instead they were now outside in the daytime. They were also no longer in Hell’s Kitchen, or anywhere in Manhattan by the looks of it. He and the Ghost were standing on a street lined with narrow, colonial-style homes that all sat close together. The sky was clear and the sun was bright, but there must have been a big storm recently as there was at least a foot and a half of snow on the ground. The heavy snow covering everything delayed his recognition of where they were, but once it clicked Hans gasped. 

“This, this is the block I grew up on. 219th Street in Queens Village.” He looked around in wonder as he began to walk forward. “I haven’t been back in the old neighborhood in ages. Not since dad died and Lars and I had to clean out the house.” 

The Ghost walked alongside him as they wandered down the block. 

“You’re ok like that?” Hans asked, looking down at her bare feet as they walked across the snow. 

“The cold doesn’t bother me,” she responded simply. 

Hans looked forward again when he heard voices and laughter. On either side of the street there were huge mounds from where the plows had pushed the snow up. Groups of children had established forts in the drifts and were hurling snowballs across the street at each other. Hans recognized them as his old neighbors and classmates and tried calling out to them, but they paid him no mind. 

“These are but shadows of things that have been,” the Ghost said to him. “They can not hear or see us and nothing we do can now change these events. We are here only to see what has been.” 

She turned away from him then and led him to the front door of one house in particular, a house Hans knew all too well. Instead of opening the door, Hans and the Ghost passed through it as if it were not solid. Or perhaps they were the ones that were not solid. 

A sadness settled over Hans as he looked around at the familiar, dirty living room. There was a small, sad-looking Christmas tree over in the corner. On the couch laid a middle-aged man, asleep, and all around the base of it lay empty beer cans. 

“He wasn’t always like this, was he?” the Ghost asked in a way that implied she already knew the answer. 

“No,” Hans answered her anyway. “The drinking had only started after mom left.” He went to bat away a can with his toe, but his foot passed right through it. 

Upstairs they went, and in a small bedroom, they found a boy. He was sitting in a windowsill with his knees pulled up and his nose in a book. 

“Why does this boy sit alone?” the Ghost asked him. 

“I wasn’t very sociable as a child,” he admitted. 

“Only as a child?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. 

He went to respond but was interrupted as another boy came running into the room. He was a few years older, but with the same auburn hair and green eyes as the younger boy, and he was all bundled up for the cold. 

“Lars,” Hans said with a smile as he watched him run into the room. 

“Come on, Hans,” the older boy said to the younger boy. “Get dressed, we’re going to the park behind the school to go sledding.” 

The younger boy didn’t seem to like that idea as he winced and pulled his knees closer to his chest. “The Stabbington brothers are always hanging out at that park. They’re the _worst_.”

Hans remembered them, two big lugs who would always bully the younger kids in the neighborhood. 

“Well, you don’t have to worry about them,” the older boy said, putting his hands on his hips. “I’ll be with you and if they try anything I’ll give them a sluggin’.” 

“Yeah?” the younger asked, a smile spreading across his face.

“Absolutely. They try to mess with my little brother and I’ll show them what’s what.” The older boy grabbed a pillow off the bed and began to punch it as a demonstration. The younger boy laughed at the sight and Hans smiled along too. “Now, hurry up and get dressed.”

The older boy sat down on the edge of the bed while the younger boy ran over to the closet to find some warm clothes. The Ghost walked over to the older boy and crouched down so that she was at eye level with him. 

“Life was not always kind to him, was it?” she asked solemnly. 

“No,” Hans answered coldly. “Though life is rarely kind to anyone.”

She looked back over at Hans. “But to become a father and a widower on the same day is particularly a cruel fate.”

Hans only nodded. He felt a sting in his eyes and a welling up in his chest as he remembered that day in the hospital when the doctor gave Lars the news, and the way he had collapsed sobbing into Hans’s arms. 

“He did his best, as a single dad, don’t you think?” 

“They didn’t have any life insurance when she died,” Hans said, shaking his head. “And they didn’t plan anything out financially before getting pregnant in the first place. Lars struggled with money his whole life.”

The Ghost tilted her head curiously. “Is that why you fought?” 

Suddenly the world around them changed and Hans found that they were now walking down 6th Avenue in midtown Manhattan. It was night and a light snow was just beginning to fall. Hans could see the glow of Christmas lights coming from within each office building’s lobby and he watched all of the people walking quickly up and down the sidewalk. 

The Ghost stopped walking and pointed up. “Do you know this building?”

Hans stopped as well and looked up. “Know it?” he smiled. “Of course, I know it. My first job right out of college was in this building.”

“Then you know there is a good party going on inside.” The Ghost took his hands and they walked forward, passing through the side of the building. When they made it through the wall Hans noticed that they were suddenly up on one of the higher floors of the building as he could see the city lights twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

The office was full of people laughing and talking, eating and drinking, and not a single one working. Hans covered his mouth to hide a small smile as he looked at the sea of late nineties business suits and hairstyles. There were Christmas decorations hung all around and some folks were wearing Santa hats or headbands with fake reindeer antlers on them. 

A large man with a barrel chest and orange hair was making his way through the groups of people, greeting everyone as he went. He laughed as he went and everyone smiled to see him.

“Old Mr. Oaken,” Hans said with fondness as he looked at the man. “Alive again.” 

“Your employer,” the Ghost remarked. 

“He was a great man to work for,” Hans smiled. “And these parties, well, Oaken’s Christmas parties were legendary.”

This floor of the office building they were on had three different conference rooms, and during these Christmas parties, they’d each be packed with their own things. One was filled with all kinds of savory foods. Charcuterie boards and trays of antipasti, chips and dip, wings and pizza. The second was filled with desserts. Cakes and pies, cannolis and sfogliatelle, brownies and cookies. The third, and most popular, was filled with booze. Bottles and bottles of liquor and wine, mixers and soda water, and buckets with ice and beer. 

Someone had brought a boombox and CDs and there was an area where desks had been pushed out of the way for people to dance. The current center of attention was the man Hans would later start his own firm with, Weselton. He was full of life, jumping and hopping around and doing a dance move that vaguely resembled a chicken. 

“Everyone is having such a good time,” Hans said as he looked around at all the smiling faces. 

“Not everyone,” the Ghost said, looking over Hans’s shoulder. 

Hans turned around to find himself. Though, not so much himself but the him that was half his lifetime ago. A young man with not a touch of gray in his auburn hair nor a line on his face, save the crease between his furrowed brows. 

“Wow, I look almost a boy,” Hans remarked. 

His younger self was wearing a suit that seemed to be a size too large on him. It was one of his brother’s, he remembered. This must have been his first year at the firm, then, only a couple of months on the job. At that point he hadn’t yet had the funds to fill out a professional wardrobe on his own, so Lars had lent him some of his suits until he could afford to buy more. 

The younger Hans was holding some papers in his hands and scanning the crowd with concern in his eyes. When he spotted what he was looking for he walked forward, pushing his way through the people. 

“Mr. Oaken, sir,” the young man said as he reached the boss. “I was reviewing some of the figures on this account and-,”

“Hans,” Oaken snatched the papers out of his hands and laughed. “What are you doing? It’s a party, my boy! A _Christmas_ party. Put the paperwork away and go have some fun!”

“Yes, but-,”

“No buts! Go!” Oaken shooed him away. “Be young, have fun!”

Oaken walked off then to go greet some more people and the younger Hans was left looking a bit dejected. 

“Never were good at parties, were you?” the Ghost asked. 

Hans gave her an annoyed glare. “Why do you keep asking questions that you so _obviously_ know the answers to already?” 

She just smiled and gave him a half shrug. Hans rolled his eyes and turned away from her, following his younger self into the conference room filled with desserts. A couple of other folks were in the room already, filling up their plates with sweets. They eventually left, leaving him alone in the room - alone except for his older self and the Ghost who were watching him, of course. The younger Hans walked around the table, his hands clasped behind his back, as he looked over all the offerings, eventually coming to a stop in front of a carrot cake. 

“It was here,” the older Hans said, realizing the moment they were in. “It was right now.” 

While his younger self continued to study the desserts, the older Hans looked up to the doorway. There stood a sight Hans had not seen in many years. 

“Kristoff,” he whispered. 

He was just as handsome as Hans remembered, maybe even more so if that were possible. Tall and broad, a soft mop of golden blond hair and a pair of warm brown eyes. He was wearing a blue sweater over his shirt and tie. Kristoff always looked so good in blue. 

Hans watched as the young man took a deep breath before stepping into the room and speaking. 

“Hey, Hans, how ya doing?” 

His younger self nearly jumped as he spun around. “Kristoff! Hi,” he said, a blush forming on his cheeks. “I didn’t-, I wasn’t sure if you’d be here at the party.”

“Yeah,” Kristoff shrugged, walking closer. “Mr. Oaken always makes sure everyone is invited to these Christmas parties of his, from the top partners down to us lowly mailroom workers.”

“That’s great!” he beamed. “I mean, it’s great that he does that. He’s a great guy.”

Hans snorted and shook his head as he watched his younger self stumble over his words. 

Kristoff pointed at a cake box that the younger Hans was standing in front of. “You weren’t going for that last piece of carrot cake, were you?”

“No, no, it’s all yours,” he said as he stepped back. 

“Great,” Kristoff said, stepping forward and picking up a small paper plate from a stack on the table. “It’s from Living Rock Bakery over on 53rd Street, the best carrot cake in the whole city.”

“Just the whole city, huh?” the younger Hans asked in a slightly teasing tone. “Not the whole world?” 

“Well, I haven’t tried every carrot cake in the whole world,” Kristoff said before shoving a big forkful into his mouth. 

“But you _have_ tried every carrot cake in the whole city?” 

Kristoff swallowed the bite of cake. “Yes!” he smiled and nodded. “Obviously!” 

The two young men laughed and it made the older Hans smile. 

One of Kristoff’s jobs as a worker in the mailroom had been to push the cart through the office each day and deliver everyone their mail. When he’d get to Hans’s desk, Kristoff would always stop for a minute or so and the two of them would talk and joke. They would chat about music and the weather and on Fridays they’d recap the prior night’s episode of _ER_ together. But it would be only for a minute or so and then Hans needed to get back to work and Kristoff needed to continue on with his deliveries. It was always the best minute or so of Hans’s day, though. 

What Hans hadn’t known at the time was that it was always the best minute or so of Kristoff’s day too. Nor had Hans known then that Kristoff, just like himself, wished to spend more time together but was too nervous to make the first move. 

But this night, this Christmas party, had been their first opportunity to spend more time together without either needing to worry about being on the clock. Tonight had been the night where they talked not just for a minute or two minutes or even for an hour, but for the whole night. 

Hans followed the two young men closely as he watched the night play out. They moved through each of the three conference rooms, getting food and drink. Initially, they mingled with everyone else at the party, but it wasn’t long before the two of them became focused only on each other - over in a corner of the party alone talking and laughing 

Eventually they snuck away from the crowd, down onto the floor below the one where the party was being held. Hans laughed as he chased his younger self and Kristoff as they raced through the empty halls on rolling office chairs. 

“I win!” Kristoff declared as his chair crossed over the makeshift fishline they had set up with toilet paper. 

“It’s not fair,” the younger Hans protested, his breath heavy as he finally caught up. “Those long legs of yours give you too much of an advantage.” 

Kristoff let out a small laugh before lifting an arm to scratch at the back of his neck. 

Hans felt a pang in his chest as he watched the movement. Kristoff would always do that whenever he was feeling embarrassed or nervous about something. One of the many little things Hans had come to know about him over the years. He wondered if it was still something that Kristoff did now. 

After snagging some more snacks and drinks from the party, the two young men found an empty conference room far away from the crowd. The two of them sat on top of the table, side by side, as they looked out the window at the city lights. And they talked. They talked about so much that night. Kristoff told Hans about his parents and how he had been adopted. Hans told Kristoff about his brother Lars and how he and his wife were expecting a baby in the new year. 

The older Hans and the Ghost stood in the corner of the room, silently watching it all. Hans remembered this exact moment and what happened next. He remembered feeling brave, brave in a way he had never felt before. He watched as his younger self slowly slid his hand across the top of the table and allowed the edge of his pinky to brush up against Kristoff’s. Hans remembered how scary that moment had been, the fear of what Kristoff’s reaction would be if Hans had actually been reading the signs wrong. 

For a brief moment Kristoff stiffened, but then he relaxed and his hand moved over the back of the other man’s and squeezed. The younger Hans turned his hand over, palm up, and the two of them interlaced their fingers. 

“Um, wow,” the younger Hans let out a shaky laugh as he looked down at their joined hands. “So, that’s happening.” 

“Yeah,” Kristoff responded, sounding surprised himself. 

“It’s-, it’s ok? Right?” he asked nervously. 

“Yes,” Kristoff said quickly. “Yes, it’s very ok.” 

The two young men smiled at each and Hans remembered how butterflies had fluttered in his stomach at that moment. 

“Do you want to go see the tree?” Kristoff asked. 

The younger Hans nodded. “Yeah, absolutely.”

After gathering up their coats, hats, and gloves the two young men headed out, holding hands the whole three block walk from their office building to where the tree was. A light snow was still falling but Hans saw that neither he nor the Ghost left any footprints as they followed behind. 

As they entered Rockefeller Center, Hans looked up at the Christmas tree. Seventy feet tall and sparkling with multi-colored lights. There were many other people in the plaza - families, couples, tourists - looking at the tree, sitting on benches and sipping hot beverages, and some skating down on the ice rink.

Hans’s eyes returned to the two young men who stood, still holding hands, as they looked at the tree.

“It is so co-old,” the younger Hans, his voice shaking over the word ‘cold’.

Kristoff looked down at him with a bit of concern. “You’re near shivering. Are you ok?” 

“Perhaps a bit of, um, body heat would help,” the young man said, his teeth chattering slightly. 

“Is that your way of asking for a hug?” Kristoff asked with a smile. 

“Maybe,” he responded with a sheepish grin. 

“Come here.” Kristoff wrapped his arms around the younger Hans and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Well now there is something I miss,” the older Hans said to the Ghost. “His hugs were, well. There was something special about being in his arms.” 

The Ghost didn’t say anything in return, only looking forward with a still expression. 

Hans moved closer to the two young men as they pulled back slightly from the hug, just enough to be able to look at each other while still keeping their arms around one another. He could see it now, just as he could still see clear in his memory, the way the lights from the tree reflected off of Kristoff’s skin and sparkled in his eyes. 

“Hans, can,” Kristoff began, his voice a bit hesitant. “Can I kiss you?”

The younger Hans nodded slightly and tilted his chin up. The corner of Kristoff’s mouth twitched up slightly before he dipped his head down and brought their lips together. 

“We must go now,” the Ghost said. 

“No, please,” Hans said, unable to take his eyes away from the two young men as they smiled and pressed their foreheads together after breaking the kiss. “Please let me stay so I can see more.”

“There is more you need to see, which is why we cannot stay.” 

Hans kept watching them as the world changed around him and they disappeared from his sight. He found himself inside now, standing in the apartment that used to belong to his brother Lars. The toys and books and general disarray of the living room gave proof that a small child lived here. 

The front door opened and in stepped his younger self and Kristoff. The two men brushed off the cold and stomped out some of the snow from their shoes. 

“We’re here,” the younger Hans called out as they dropped bags of presents onto the floor and began to strip off their hats and scarves and coats. 

“Un-cahs, un-cahs!” a small voice called out from behind him. Hans turned to find a toddler in a red and green plaid dress. 

“Frederica,” Hans said fondly as he watched the little girl, excitement bright on her face, as she ran full speed at his younger self. The auburn hair on the top of her head was tied up in a bow that matched her little dress. As a single dad, Lars always prided himself on being able to do his daughter’s hair. 

“Freddie!” his younger self exclaimed, picking her up and spinning her around. 

“How is it out there?” Lars’s voice called out from the kitchen. It felt like a shot to the chest, to hear his brother’s voice again.

“A total mess, the snow is coming down hard,” Kristoff responded before taking Frederica out of Hans’s arms so he could carry the presents they brought over to the tree. “Hello, little sweetie. You want to show me what Santa got you?”

Lars stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, coming into view. He was wearing an apron with the words _‘The Tree Isn’t The Only Thing Getting Lit This Year’_ in green and red letters on the front. Hans smiled at the sight of it. Lars wore that stupid thing every year.

“You brought the wine, right?” Lars asked. 

“Of course,” his younger self responded, carrying the bottles toward the kitchen to greet his brother. Hans felt an aching in his arms as he watched them hug. 

“Spirit, am I dying?” he asked with a sudden dread. “That’s what they say, right? That your life flashes before your eyes before you die. Is that what is happening to me?” 

“I do not know of such things,” she responded but there was no comfort in her tone.

Without warning the world around them changed again. They were once again outside. There were a couple of inches of snow on the ground and the sun was starting to set. It was Central Park Hans realized after looking around. 

He saw that the Ghost was looking firmly in one particular direction. Hans followed her eye line to find Kristoff, sitting alone on a bench. He was a bit older than the last version Hans had just seen and the look on his face was a mix of sadness, hurt, and anger. The realization as to which Christmas this was hit Hans. 

“No, Spirit,” Hans begged her. “Not this Christmas. Don’t show me this one.”

She did not answer him, nor did she look at him. 

Hans saw his younger self approaching. Though, not so young now, the first touches of gray in his hair. 

“You're late,” Kristoff said flatly as he stood up. 

“Work. Couldn’t be helped,” the younger Hans said dismissively, giving his boyfriend a quick kiss on the cheek.

Kristoff crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I thought one of the advantages of you becoming a partner in your own firm was that you were supposed to be able to set your own hours.”

“Theoretically, yes. But being a partner also means more responsibility.”

“You could have at least let me know you were going to be late.”

“I called the apartment but there was no answer.”

Kristoff pulled a flip phone from his pocket and silently held it up. 

“Right,” the younger Hans said looking at it. “I keep forgetting you have that.”

“Most people do now,” Kristoff said with some annoyance, returning it to his pocket. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“I don’t need one. Overpriced, frivolous junk.”

Kristoff shook his head and looked at his watch. “Our romantic walk in the park is bust, but if we head right to the restaurant now we won’t be late for our dinner reservations.”

The younger Hans scrunched up his nose as he looked out at the rest of the park. “Not that nice of an evening for a walk anyway.”

Hans watched as Kristoff scowled, but his younger self didn’t notice. Without a word Kristoff turned and began to walk off. It took his younger self a moment to realize and then he had to hurry to catch up to his boyfriend. 

“You’re mad at me,” he said. 

“Why do you say that?” Kristoff responded, a bite in his tone as he continued to walk. 

“You’re stomping off. You always stomp when you’re mad at me,” his younger self noted. Kristoff kept walking and didn’t respond. “Because I was late? Really? I told you it couldn’t be helped.” Kristoff still didn’t respond, so the younger Hans continued on. “I’ll have you know that I actually stopped working before I finished everything that I needed to get done today. I’ll have to go back into the office tomorrow of course but-,” 

“ _Tomorrow?_ ” Kristoff finally stopped walking and whirled around, disbelief on his face. “Tomorrow is Christmas. We’re spending the morning with Lars and Freddie and then we’re having dinner with my folks.”

“I know,” his younger self said as he reached for Kristoff’s hand. “And I’ll do my best to make it.”

Kristoff pulled his hand away. “Do your best? When was the last time you ever did your best?”

The younger Hans squared his shoulders. “That’s not fair.” 

“No. What’s not fair is me always waiting around for you. Me always having to come in second to your one true love.”

“What are you talking about?” his younger self asked, baffled. “There is no one else but you, I swear.”

There never was. There was no one before Kristoff and no one since. 

“ _Money_ , Hans.”

“Come _on_ , I-,” 

“If it were legal, would you marry me?” he asked out of nowhere. 

“Kristoff,” the younger Hans sighed, as if what he was asking was utterly absurd. 

“Answer the question!” Kristoff demanded. 

“Where is this coming from? And, no, I _won’t_ answer the question because it’s a silly question because it’s _not_ legal in this state so it doesn’t matter.”

“We could go to Massachusetts,” Kristoff stepped closer to him, a desperation growing in his voice. “Rent a car and just _go_ and just _do it_.”

He shook his head. “That won’t work.” 

“What do you mean? Plenty of couples have done it, they do it all the time.” 

Hans couldn’t see it then, but he could see it now. How what Kristoff was actually begging for was a sign, _anything_ that would show him that Hans loved him as much as he loved Hans. 

“People do it, but it’s meaningless,” the younger Hans said dismissively. “New York doesn’t recognize out-of-state same-sex marriages. It would just be a meaningless piece of paper.”

“Meaningless?” Kristoff’s mouth hung open. 

“What was wrong with me?” Hans said as he watched the scene play out. “Why couldn’t I just tell him how I felt? That just because I didn’t want some hurried thing in some random city hall or county clerk’s office across state lines didn’t mean it didn’t want… I wanted things to be perfect. I wanted it to be real.”

“But, no,” Kristoff threw his arms in the air. “Of _course_ you don’t want to get married. You don’t even want us to buy a place together.”

“I’ve told you before,” the younger Hans said, sounding annoyed. “It’s a seller’s market. It would be foolish to buy right now.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Kristoff responded through clenched teeth. 

“I wanted us to be secure,” Hans said, but he wasn’t even sure who he was trying to convince. “With everything I saw Lars go through, I, I…”

“I can’t do this anymore.” Kristoff took a deep breath. “I can’t keep hoping and hoping that things will change, that _you_ will change, and, and… year after year after year, you only get worse and not better. I can’t keep watching the man I fell in love with disappear bit by bit and I can’t keep chasing after the crumbs of what used to be your love for me.”

It was only then, and far too late, that his younger self understood the gravity and seriousness of the conversation. “Wha-, what are you saying?”

Kristoff’s eyes were welling up with tears. “I’m saying that I can’t do this anymore.” 

“But… I love you, Kristoff,” his younger self said, as if it were enough. 

“You did once, I do believe that. This was going to be our tenth Christmas together, but now,” Kristoff’s voice caught as the tears began to roll down his cheeks. “Goodbye, Hans,” he said before turning and walking away. 

The younger Hans stood still for a long moment before slowly sinking down to sit onto a park bench. 

“I thought about going after him,” the older Hans said as he watched the scene. 

“But you didn’t,” the Ghost said plainly. 

“Why are you doing this?” Hans snapped at her. “Why do you show me things to cause me pain and then provide no sympathy?

“Do not blame me for the way these events unfold,” the Ghost said, her icy eyes void of compassion. “You were their creator, not I.”

“Well you can keep them!” he shouted, tears stinging his eyes. “I don’t want to see anymore. Take me home. _Now!_ ”

A bright, white light then burst forth from where she was standing, blinding him. Closing his eyes, Hans stumbled forward and fell. Instead of falling into the snow and ice, though, he landed on something soft. Blinking his eyes open Hans saw that he was back in his bed, his room cloaked in darkness. He was alone and there was no trace of the Ghost nor any noise save the distant sounds of the city outside his window.


End file.
